


Wish You Were Here

by Sweettoof



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/F, Myrtle Snow - Freeform, foxxay - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:56:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4322187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweettoof/pseuds/Sweettoof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few months after Cordelia rises as the Supreme, Misty continues to occupy her mind, the girl who never really left her side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wish You Were Here

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Lady Gaga's 'Wish You Were Here' which was also the inspiration. I do not own the 2 other songs I used in here. I wrote this for the purpose of sorting out my mess of emotions-which is, by the way, still messier than ever- because let's face it, no one will ever get over Foxxay, the ship that could've been.

Water droplets trickled over the flimsy leaves of a dying plant settled on a dark mahogany table at an open window. Sunlight poured through to awash the room in a comforting perpetual warmth in promise of a good day ahead while the Supreme stood back a ways to admire her work.

Cordelia was never one to invest in the possibility of a harbinger these days but the way the fluidity returned to its stems as green life was restored within the roots buried beneath wet soil had her heart fluttering with hope. A palm hovered over the plant. She closed her eyes and muttered an incantation to ensure survival in an otherwise still dangerous territory. A new Supreme may have risen but the war was far from over. At least for now, her passion would thrive.

It was the same routine every morning. She would awaken from a dreamless sleep feeling no different than the state she was in the night previous. Her first instinct would be to tend to her gardens and budding flowers while she waited for the beep of the microwave signaling that her coffee was ready. Today was no different. Though she felt something, a warning to proceed with caution descend on her being. Now that her powers strengthened, every sense she had was heightened and multiplied. She couldn’t shake the feeling of a bittersweet imbroglio transpiring quite soon.

A single tear rolled down her cheek, following a similar salty path the last one made yesterday. It had happened so many times—tears suddenly flowing forth from stinging eyes—that Cordelia deemed it normal whenever she would cry without preamble or warning from her own body. She supposed it was because of her own sadness taking over; her heart couldn’t possibly carry all that weight and tension on its own that her subconscious had taken the liberty to release it for her.

Her thoughts were pulled by a rasped tone, a voice she knew and that had long embedded itself in her head for longer than her mother had. She supposed the same familial title could apply.

“Five months as the reigning Supreme and I clung to the thought that you would finally let go from reviving dead greens. But what can I say? The smell of death is musty and this lagniappe of vitalum vitalis is one you’re most adept in,” 

Cordelia swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand before returning them to the terracotta pot, pressing her fingers deep into the damp dirt. “Thank you for your insight, Auntie Myrtle…but I’m not strong enough to handle any counseling right now,” she tried her best to hide the shakiness.

“Counseling, Cordelia darling? My broad use of vocabulary and references to antiquated cultures may be strange in this hatchling of a budding modern society but that is no excuse to call me some kind of therapist--,”

“Myrtle… why are you here?” the blonde sighed.

“Right, right, my apologies. The stars know I don’t mean to pry but I can feel your troubles radiating off of your person in the next room. What ails you, my dear? As much as you want to, that _anemone coronaria_ can’t reciprocate your words,”

She wasn’t wrong. No amount of proper nutrients could grant its delicate petals the ability to speak. Cordelia was just fooling herself into thinking so. The problem was, her conflict was of a matter Myrtle wouldn’t be able to understand through verbal explanation. She would have had to know what it felt like from a personal traumatic experience. The Supreme, it looked like, was alone in figuring out her own drama like always.

“You’re right,” she agreed, facing the elder woman. “You know, ever since the declaration of my supremacy, I have done so minimally. Nobody informed me how draining this task can be even when you haven’t done so much. It truly is a burden…I’ve never felt so alone.”

Myrtle clicked her tongue. “Baby bird, fiddling with hopeless lifeforms are about as useful to the coven as ‘Fiona the Goode’ but wallowing in self-pity is just as taxing. And don’t say you haven’t provided at all for the sake of our Salem bloodline. You put these flowering girls into a home. Our populace has reached at least a thousand, has it not? Why, that is certainly more than what your mother can say,”

“The homes are the least of my worries. They have a place to stay but danger continues to lurk in every corner. My mother really left quite the mess for me to clean up,”

“Those girls have never been safer in your care,” Myrtle insisted, “Don’t tell me they were better off lost, unaware of their true identities?”

“It’s not that, it’s…” she trailed off when she realized there were no words to continue the fact. True, Cordelia thought. But she still didn’t feel better. 5 months. So much more could have been done in that time. Myrtle, sensing her inner turmoil, brewed a conclusion.

“I suppose I should let you enjoy your solitude. Peace and quiet is about as rare as it comes. I’ll check on you later, Cordelia,” she tipped her head forward and left the room. The blonde allowed for the thick silence to gather in her ears once again, accustomed to the deafening sound.

Deep down, she knew. She wouldn’t achieve peace and quiet here, not with so much brutal history entombed within blanched walls. Her eyes fell on her dirt-covered hands, the deathly pallor of her skin contrasting greatly with wet earth. But she wasn’t ill. That would be impossible so early in her reign.

No. What she was feeling was far worse.

Cordelia dashed to the nightstand to retrieve her purse before making a split second decision in taking the newly-revitalized anemone with her. Uttering one last incantation to bestow protection on the academy while she was gone, she exited her bedroom in search of tranquility elsewhere.

***

The drive didn’t take long. Cordelia had long since memorized the route to the location of what she now called her haven, only visiting in the most desperate of times or when she needed an escape to cleanse her mind.

After trudging through mud and moss and encountering deep puddles of water, she sighed in relief when the wooden planks of a small cabin came into view. Songs provided by cicadas echoed loudly and clearly from their place near the trees, intermingling with occasional snaps from some alligators nearby. She felt calmer, safer somehow. The swamp hadn’t changed a bit.

When she neared the door, it was cracked open an inch; several scratches marked the areas from where the attacker had kicked it open on the night her life would be changed drastically. Unbeknownst to Cordelia at the time, her life would never be the same again. She entered with caution, not wanting to cause a disturbance in the otherwise serene atmosphere. Everything surrounding her was frozen in time and she tried her best to preserve that.

She was met with numerous photos of Stevie Nicks covering the walls along with floral shawls hanging over the windows. Hints of Louisiana mud, petrichor, earth, and exotic flowers invaded her senses which she happily welcomed into her lungs. Her heart slowed in pace since now there was no need to feel anything but placidity.

Memories of the girl who lived here lingered in the air, undisturbed even by the wicked turn of events her fate had in store for her. Cordelia saddened each time her mind crossed over to that sensitive place where her levels of weakness were only elevated by her inability to save those who least deserved the world’s cruelty. Since then, she would find herself drifting off into the immutable past, no matter how much she chastised her own brain for doing so.

Soft floorboards groaned under her boots caked with dried mud. She walked towards the bed—unmade and messy, suspended in a kind of era that could be touched yet remain pure for centuries—admiring the little tapestries sewn on the corners of the pillow. Fluff poured out from where it was shot at, breaking Cordelia’s heart at the very sign of the hatred many possessed towards their kind. She extended a hand to run her fingers through the worn fabric of a blanket hanging haphazardly over the bedside. She couldn’t help but picture all the comfort it had provided to overcome heavy rain or any other type of harsh weather. The swamps were mostly moist and humid; Cordelia doubted the demesne suffered too much.

The anemone, safely tucked in the crook of her arm, weighed heavily on her cramping limb. A small old table used as a makeshift nightstand stood beside the low bed where a stained glass lamp was placed on top. Some books and jeweled jars containing pasty beryl-green contents shared the space including cassette tapes of Fleetwood Mac music. There was room next to the books where Cordelia set the potted plant down. She liked how well it fit in with the overall color scheme of the cabin. The flower was colored a peculiar shade of violet in the center which blended with white tips. There was something about the way the colors joined together halfway on the petals, fusing to create a creamy lavender that appealed to the Supreme.

She reached to touch the petals the same manner she did with the blanket: cautious, slow, taking her time. Her hand jerked back when a change in the energy around her shifted as if the world tilted to its side.

“Ya can sit on the bed, ya know. Might do it good if it’s put back to use,”

Cordelia didn’t need to turn around for confirmation on whose voice she’d heard. Instead, the corners of her lips quirked up into a tearful smile, straining the muscles that had rarely been used until this moment.

“Misty,” she murmured the name that had long been forgotten by the coven. Zoe or Queenie never spoke it around their headmistress for fear of causing triggers but Cordelia never lived past a day when she didn’t think about that name at least once since the Seven Wonders.

“In the flesh,” Misty answered, then paused, “Well, so much for makin’ light of the situation.”

“Misty!” Cordelia finally cried then turned to see the young woman with her very own eyes, healed and well and clear, standing by the doorway with messy blonde curls and a pair of mysterious gunmetal irises looking back at her, swirling with mutual emotions.

She pulled her in for a hug, wanting nothing more than to keep her in her arms forever but the feeling didn’t last. It didn’t take long for the memory of the Cajun witch disintegrating despite her tight hold on her body to flood back. Misty understood the sudden release. She too suffered the same traumatic reminder.

“I’m sorry,” Cordelia whispered. She kept her arms at her sides to keep them at bay so she could suppress the urge to hold Misty again against her chest. She feared she may never let go. Or rather, the reality would crumble. She didn’t know if she could handle yet another heart-crushing scenario.

“It’s alright Miss Cordelia, I missed ya too,” Misty assured. The older woman bowed her head to conceal the pink blush coloring her cheeks.

“I needed a place to escape for a while and the first place I thought of was your swamp. I know how much you loved it here,”

“Oh, I loved it but when there’s pros, there’re always cons,” she took Cordelia’s hand and led her to sit on the bed, entwining their fingers together. “I had no company here. Just me and my Stevie, though she wasn’t exactly very talkative,”

The Supreme rested her head on Misty’s shoulder, looking down to where their hands were joined together. “How long until you go back?” she was afraid to ask.  

Wisps of wavy locks brushed her forearm when Misty turned her head to look at her. “I don’t wanna talk about that right now. Papa Legba was merciful ta even let me walk a while,”

Cordelia scoffed, “What’s the payment this time?” she closed her eyes, mentally preparing herself for anything the dark deity would ask for.

The Cajun witch sighed, shoulders slumping, “He said something about plantin’ more tulips and hydrangeas. He ain’t really this nice most a the time. I’m just glad I’m outta there, if only for a while.”

Her gaze flitted to the flower on her nightstand, vibrant and flourishing.

“Anemone…” she whispered and bit her lip. Cordelia raised her head.

“Yeah, I wanted to bring one from the academy. I revived it earlier. It was wilting in the greenhouse,”

Misty’s vision blurred with unshed tears; the stray sunlight shining through the cracks on the walls made the surface of her eyes glisten, catching Cordelia’s attention.

“Misty, what is it?” she asked worriedly, subconsciously squeezing her hand where it rest on her lap.

“Anemones mean, uh, fadin’ hope. They represent the feelin’ a being forsaken,” she explained.

Cordelia nodded and choked back her urge to sob. “They also sprang from Aphrodite’s tears when she mourned the death of Adonis,” she brushed a stray lock behind Misty’s ear.

“I’m guessin’ it’s safe ta say that I’m Adonis in this analogy?”

The Supreme chuckled, making it the first time she laughed in ages. She brought their foreheads together and both women basked in the closeness, breaths mingling. Cordelia buried her hand in thick wild hair, euphoric in having strands between her fingers.

She shook her head. “No,” she whispered, “You’re more than a tragic Greek myth… you’re the reality that visits me in my dreams.”

Misty shifted, placing her hands over Cordelia’s where they were tangled in her hair. “I don’t see why we should let reality stop us. I’m here now,”

The Supreme smiled, “Yeah…I guess you are,”

***

Colors, both ranging from pastel to vibrant splashed the walls in the form of petals and uniquely shaped leaves. What was once a lackluster mess of the usual brown and green was now a palette of diversity. The greenhouse was livelier than ever, a quality borne of such opposite circumstances.

“Tulips and hydrangeas? Papa really knows a thing or two about hitting where it hurts,”

Cordelia walked over to the shelves to retrieve the tools she would need. She had gone the extra mile by pre-planting most of the seeds she owned beforehand, thinking it would be easier since all that was required was water and a little magic boost.

“Whattaya mean by that?” Misty asked, trailing behind her curiously in the same way a student would a teacher.

“Does he tell you what the flowers are for?”

The Cajun looked around her, examining the jungle of bouquets organized beautifully and took up most of the space. Even the natural perfumed heady scent was almost enough to make her dizzy. She shook her head no. “Papa doesn’t give me all the details. Come ta think of it, he’s confusing most a the time.”

“Cocaine’ll do that to you,” Cordelia sighed. She remembered how she drew the line when he suggested she grow weed and coca plant. He returned her scowl with a devilish grin and disappeared. “I consider it a miracle that he allows for your visits.”

She heard Misty scoff from the other side of the room. “Yeah, without knowin’ when I’ll see ya again. He’s a real saint.” The wild blonde trailed her fingers along the petals, trying her best to name each one she came across.

“Ya got everythin’ here, Dee…” she breathed in astonishment, “Sunflowers, calla lilies, regular lilies…”

“Hyacinth,” Cordelia classified when she sensed Misty struggling upon a cluster of violet bulbs, “They represent playfulness and sporty attitude.”

“That’s right. I didn’t have this many types a flowers back in my swamp. I had my share but none so various in kinds…what are these called again?”

Cordelia grabbed a wash cloth spotted with dried dirt from a station cluttered with gardening tools to wipe off some of the soil from her fingers and made her way towards Misty.

“Gardenias. They symbolize purity, sweetness, and secret love,” she suddenly perked up, taking Misty’s hand and leading her to a truss of carnations.

“That’s an awful lotta pink, Delia,” Misty giggled. She felt Cordelia wrap an arm around her waist, beaming at the flowers full of pride.

“Love of a woman. That’s what the pink ones mean,” she explained. She and Misty shared a brief glance before the wild blonde turned her head away in a futile attempt to conceal her blushing cheeks, rapidly darkening in shades of red.

“What about those?” Misty asked in child-like wonder, gesturing to a group of white-petaled flowers. Cordelia’s brows knit for a second.

“Why, those are daisies, Mist,”

Misty snorted. “I meant what do they mean, silly,” she laughed. She spun in her arms to face the Supreme, wrapping her own around Cordelia’s neck.

“Loyal love. They mean loyal love,” she said after a while. The Cajun nodded slowly, finding herself distracted by the distance between them, or lack thereof.

“And…” she swallowed, her throat feeling dry which in a way made no sense since she was here basically wandering as a spirit, “…the sunflowers?”

“Adoration,”

She bit her lip, raising an eyebrow, “The roses?” Cordelia shook her head at the smug smirk Misty had, developing the unplanned urge to wipe it off her face. Without thinking, she closed the distance between them, placing a kiss ever so gently on soft lips. Misty was quick to reciprocate though her mind was reeling and her heart was racing. When they pulled back, only slightly, their eyes were slow to open, still absorbed in what just happened. Cordelia was trying to preserve the moment as much as Misty was so they each had something to hold onto once they returned to their current lives.

“I wish you were here,” Cordelia whispered.

“I am, Cordelia…I’m here,” Misty whispered back.

The Supreme wished it were true. That life was that simple. Misty hadn’t died. And she was definitely not stuck in hell. But how many times had she told herself that lie? Too much to think it were true, apparently. So much, in fact, she was starting to believe it. The screen of deceit she built as protection, however, was not meant to last. Veracity dwelled in the back of her mind, hovering. Reality crashed back without mercy and she was left to contemplate her life choices so easily influenced by her heart.

She sighed and with a heavy heart uttered painfully, “I wish it were that easy…but at least for now, I’m glad I don’t have to go through this alone,” she unwrapped her arms from the Cajun’s neck and resumed by picking up her tin watering can and tipping it forward to shower the plants and their dry soil.

A yellow disk player placed on top of Cordelia’s desk caught Misty’s attention and she strode on over to see if she could work it. Assuming the device already contained a CD of Cordelia’s choice, she pressed the ‘on’ button and then ‘play’. A familiar tune soon filled the air, mellifluous notes diffusing through until it took up the entire vicinity of the greenhouse.

Cordelia paused in her work, stopping to allow the song envelop her. She hugged the watering can just a little bit tighter to her abdomen and turned to see Misty with outstretched arms.

“Dance with me, Dee,” she beckoned. Cordelia set the can down on the ground and gladly accepted the hands being offered to her. Stevie Nicks’s voice flowed through the speakers, gracing both women’s ears while they swayed lightly to the soft song.

_Is love so fragile_  
_And the heart so hollow_  
 _Shatter with words_  
 _Impossible to follow_  
 _You’re saying I’m fragile_  
 _I try not to be_  
 _I search only_  
 _For something_  
 _I can’t see_

_I have my own life_  
_And I am stronger than you know_  
 _But I carry this feeling_  
 _When you walked into my house_  
 _That you won’t be walking out the door_

“Still I carry this feeling,” Cordelia sang along lowly, “When you walked into my house that you won’t be walking out the door.”

They both smiled, no doubt thinking back to the first time they met when Misty came to seek refuge. Their hands had touched in a simple gesture to trigger Cordelia’s Second Sight but developed into something much more meaningful now in reminiscence.

“Lovers forever…” they both sang this time, voices mingling with those of Stevie’s and Don’s, “…face to face. My city or mountains, stay with me stay. I need you to love me…”

“I need you today…” Cordelia said it as more of a statement than a lyric, looking Misty in the eye so there would be no miscommunication in how she truly felt. She bit her lip and directed her gaze to the ground.

_Give to me your leather  
Take from me my lace_

The wild blonde pulled her closer and rested her cheek against straight golden hair. Cordelia closed her eyes, savoring the faint scent of petrichor lingering in the shawl Misty had draped around her shoulders.

“Ya in the moonlight, with ya’re sleepy eyes, could ya ever love a gal like me,” Misty crooned, making Cordelia laugh softly at her modification of the lyric. She felt the younger woman pull back and tilt her chin upwards so brown eyes could meet blue.

“And ya were right, when I walked into ya’re house, I knew I’d never wanna leave,” she nodded at the Supreme, confirming the line Cordelia had sung earlier.

“Sometimes I’m a strong man, sometimes cold and scared and sometimes I cry,” Cordelia took on the next part, her own voice quivering from how true the words were, “But that time I saw you I knew with you to light my nights somehow I’d get by.” A sheen of fresh tears glistened over her eyes as Misty leaned in to hold her, trying to pour in everything she had into that embrace. Cordelia buried her face in wild curls meaning to memorize the soft feel of it brushing against her skin, the way it tangled between her fingers, and the unique scent Misty always carried, unsure when she’ll be able to actually feel her again. They let the song finish out on its own, feeling that their emotions had been completely conveyed.

“Tell me what ya’re thinkin’,” Misty whispered. She recognized the Supreme’s pensive expression, one she had occasionally adopted when they were reviving fruit plants and making mud mixtures. The disk continued playing a new song automatically.

_So I’m back  
to the velvet underground…_

_Gypsy_ continued in the background as the two talked.

“About you…how much you mean to me. I feel like we were cheated out of life,” Cordelia replied, “You didn’t deserve what happened to you. This is all my fault.”

“Aww, Dee, ya gotta stop puttin’ the blame on ya’re self. I’ve learned to accept it. My fate’s down there, in that lab…” her voice cracked despite her resolve to keep a stiff upper lip. She seemed so calm, unlike the Supreme Witch who at the end of the day just felt broken and helpless. Misty had been busted until there was nothing left of her. It was one of those situations where a person trains themselves to fight the overwhelming pain deciding that feeling numb was a better alternative. The Cajun had passed all the levels of hurt, so far out on the scale that she _didn’t_. As whole as the wild blonde claimed to be, she herself knew a part of her would always be incomplete. Because her other half was a realm away. A different dimension. A separated world. Even now, their ability to touch each other would not be possible if not permitted by a higher deity. Papa Legba was doing nobody any favors. Cordelia was paying such a high price already by having him allow Misty walk amongst the living. She would be in debt for life. For _a_ life.

“So, what do the, um, hydrangeas and tulips mean?”

Cordelia cleared her throat, “They, uh, hydrangeas represent heartfelt emotions. Tulips mean a declaration of love,”

Misty took one look at her to confirm her suspicion behind Papa’s motives.

“He’s makin’ ya plant them…” she swallowed thickly, “…for me.”

The blonde made no move to hide the obvious heartbreak upon hearing those words. Papa had turned one of her most beloved hobbies that cleared her mind into a constant daily reminder drilling inside her head. Into a payment to fulfill a debt.

“It’s torture to know that each one symbolizes how I feel. That it’s a reminder that you’re not here. Not really,” her chest ached as she fought the fog of reality. She accepted the truth but deep down, she knew she would never fully grasp it.

She reached out to cup Misty’s face in her hands, tears already beginning to stain her cheeks.

“I can’t do this without you,”

“Yes, ya can. I’m with ya every step a the way,” she assured. She took Cordelia’s hand in hers and squeezed them gently. “Can’t ya feel me with you?”

“Don’t leave me,” Cordelia whispered and shook her head, lacking the strength to hold back a sob, “Not again.”

Misty’s own eyes watered. But the comforting squeeze around Cordelia’s hands never faltered. “I’m always here, Delia even if ya can’t see me.”

“Misty--,”

“Cordelia?”

She gasped at a voice that neither one had. Turning to the direction from where she heard it, she found Zoe standing at the doorway with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh sorry, were you talking to someone just now?” she asked, tone laced with a twinge of confusion and guilt from interrupting.

It was a moment before Cordelia regained her ability to speak and think. “No, no I wasn’t. What brings you to the greenhouse? Did—did you come to tell me something?” she cursed internally for stammering.

“Y-yeah, Myrtle sent me. She said supper was ready. Are…you alright?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine. Tell her I’ll be there in a minute,”

Zoe offered a nod and a courteous smile before departing. Stevie’s voice flooded back to capture her attention and she immersed her soul to the enchanting tune instead. Cordelia was too sad to even shed another tear. She was pass that emotion. Beyond it.

_She is dancing away_  
_from me now_  
 _She was just a wish_  
 _She was just a wish…_

Once she was sure the footsteps had receded, she dared turn back despite the dread that filled her. She hadn’t even said good-bye.

_And a memory is all that is left for you now…_

Maybe it was for the better. Saying good-bye was always harder when the promise of hello was unclear. Misty was gone.

_You see your gypsy  
You see your gypsy…_

And in her place, was the potted anemone, shriveled and wilted once more.


End file.
